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JorengThrak
Joreng Thrak is a former Krogan general over 300 years old. High Concept: Krogan Grizzled Veteran Trouble: Humans are Better Than Us Aspect: Blood Burns with Rage Aspect: There's Been Enough Killing Aspect: I Am A Bicep Skills: +4: Physique +3: Fight, Provoke +2: Crafts, Will, Shoot +1: Rapport, Drive, Notice, Athletics Stunts: Wrex. Shepard (Rapport). - Spend a fate point to communicate a complex emotion or thought to an ally with a minor vocalization or grunt. The ally gains the boost Coordinated in addition to the information provided. Okay, Fine! (Provoke) - You can use Provoke in place of Empathy to learn a target’s aspects, by bullying them until they reveal one to you. The target defends against this with Will. (If the GM thinks the aspect is particularly vulnerable to your hostile approach, you get a +2 bonus.) Tough as Nails (Physique) - Once per session, at the cost of a fate point, you can reduce the severity of a moderate consequence that’s physical in nature to a mild consequence (if your mild consequence slot is free), or erase a mild consequence altogether. Stress: Physical: [ ] 1 [ ] 2 [ ] 3 [ ] 4 Mental: [ ] 1 [ ] 2 [ ] 3 Consequences: Mild: Mild: Moderate: Severe: Background: Joreng Thrak is a bit over 300 years old, born in 1899 CE, just after the Geth War. He's not that old for a Krogan's lifespan, but he has survived more than his share of skirmishes, battles, and all-out wars over his lifetime, and he has the scars to prove it. His glory was enough to earn himself a high rank in the Joreng military, and a position of notice, and a visit to the fertile females. He may even have a son back on Tuchanka, from the genophage days... Life was sweet, that is until what the Council calls the First Reaper Intervention and what Krogan at the time called The Return to Glory, a little long overdue payback to the Salarians. Only it didn't work out that way. Thrak was in command of the Joreng cruiser HornRidge in the invasion fleet, when the Reapers blockaded the mass relay at the Salarian colony Machang. The Voice of The Shepard called out, and the fleet admiral gave the order to ignore the Reapers and bull-rush the mass relay. When the admiral's voice on the comm floated away like the puff of dust his ship became under the Reaper beams, Thrak found himself giving orders in a panic. Orders to retreat. To try to live to fight another day. The shame of every Krogan – to survive battle by running away. Even worse, a Reaper beam sliced the HornRidge in half, sending most of his crew to their deaths, generations of Clan Joreng warriors shot in the back mid-retreat. In an instant, thinking only of trying to save his brave warrior crew for just a bit longer, Joreng Thrak's decision disgraced the entire clan. Salarian scouts – who never bore any ill will, even toward the attempted invasion fleet – rounded up the survivors who didn't have time to commit suicide, treated their wounds, and returned them home. Thrak and those handful of survivors returned to Tuchanka, shamed and defeated, worse than dead. Thrak isn't stupid – unlike most run-of-the-mill Krogan, he realizes that, even though the Krogan were the saviors of the galaxy from the Rachni, there wouldn't even be any Krogan without the involvement and interference, good and bad, of all of the other alien races. Especially humans. They've always fascinated Thrak with how mutable they are, changeable like the weather. Not like those damn Turians. As much as humans can be selfless for no reason one minute, and sadistic killers the next minute, they're endlessly fascinating. That's why Thrak moved to the Citadel in the first place. That and to get off of Tuchanka where his clan always sort of had to apologize for his continued existence. To pay his way and make ends meet, he took jobs as a mechanic. At least he was decent at it, and he could do things that sometimes it would take a mech to do, like lift a whole aircar and drain the compression fluid by himself. It didn't take long living in the glamour of the Citadel before Thrak fell in love and fell hard. A male and female human couple named Darj Sonc and Mei Tarim worked with him as mechanics, and the three of them got to know each other very well. That fire burned with three flames, and it didn't take long before it flared like a supernova. One night, while the trio were making their way home from a nightclub down in the lower wards, as Thrak lagged behind, stumbling drunk on about five gallons of human liquor, a local street gang surprised and mugged Darj and Mei. Before Thrak could even understand what was happening, Darj and Mei put up a brief struggle, and their throats were slit in an instant. Thrak went into a blind blood rage. The next thing he remembers is coming-to in a C-Sec detention cell. He never even knew if he won or lost the fight, though he wasn't charged with any crime, mostly because C-Sec was just too busy to prosecute every gang fight that happens outside of a bar. He gathered his things and returned to the very spot of the attack. Gouges in the walls showed signs of his mighty struggle, but nothing else, not even a trace of Darj or Mei. He left a small memorial and vowed that day to commit himself to becoming a C-Sec officer and ridding the entire Citadel of scum like this. There is too much death in the universe, and he's seen far more than his share. It's time for change. Thrak looks forward to the day when his name might be once again spoken in glory. Until then, he's itching to bust some heads. You know, for truth and justice and all that touchy-feely crap that makes your organs all warm. Tagline: "If I were you, I'd start running. It won't help you any, but it's more fun for me that way." (That's not biotic effects coming from his hand. He smokes cigars. Big cigars.)